Doctor Sunshine
by jennareadsandwrites
Summary: When an injured Dean Winchester shows up to the medical practice of former-hunter-turned-doctor Jeremy Schneider (OC), the doctor is suddenly and unexpectedly dragged back into the world of hunting as he joins Dean, Sam, and Bobby in the hunt for the demon that killed his family years ago.
1. Part 1

I'm putting on my coat and throwing the strap to my briefcase over my shoulder when I hear the knock on my office door.

"Come in."

The door swings open slowly, and a guy of about thirty who's a few inches taller than me steps through the doorway. He's holding his left arm a bit awkwardly and cringing slightly, but he's wearing a dark green jacket and I can't tell what's wrong. "Hi, I'm, uh, Dean, and I was told to find a Dr. Jeremy Schneider. Is that you?"

I nod, squinting my eyes a little. The practice is supposed to be closed, and if he was a local he would know and probably have called ahead. He looks like the hunter type, but you can never be too sure. "Who sent you here?"

"Bobby Singer."

I nod, drop my briefcase on my desk, take my jacket off. "What can I do for you?"

He winces as he takes his jacket off, revealing a dark blue shirt stained almost black around his upper shoulder. I can't see clearly what the source of the blood is.

"Follow me." I lead him down the hall to an examination room, pulling on gloves. "Go ahead and sit on the seat there. Take your shirt off if you don't mind." I start pulling out some more supplies.

"But we haven't even had a first date yet," he jokes.

I don't laugh.

His chuckle is abruptly interrupted with grunts of pain as he takes his shirt off, and I step forward to take a closer look at his now bare chest. There's four deep parallel lacerations that are still heavily leaking blood. They're widely spaced, probably from claws of some kind. He has a tattoo on his chest, what looks like an anti-possession symbol, but it's torn in two by one of the gashes. He's got other minor scratches, but they're nothing a few band-aids couldn't cure.

"What did this?"

He hesitates.

"Come on, I know all about the things in the dark, and only a few things make can scratches like that."

He meets my eyes for a second, then looks away. "Hellhound."

"Yikes." I take a couple of antiseptic pads out and reach for his shoulder. "This is going to sting a little." The hand on his good arm grips the chair tightly, and he cringes a bit, but shows no other sign of pain as I wipe the area clean around the wound. Having seen a lot of people in pain, I know this tolerance is rare. But not as far as hunters go.

The wound doesn't stay clean for long, and blood continues to drip down his chest. "This is going to need stitches." I turn away and go to the counter to prepare needles with thread. A nurse would be helpful right now, but they've all left for the night.

"Aren't you a little young to be a doctor?" asks the patient, Dean.

"I'm twenty-nine," I say with my back to him. I stay focused on threading the needles. "Graduated high school at sixteen, took the fast track in college and med school. Finished my residency last year. I only started working here six months ago, and you're already the fourth hunter I've seen."

"Ah, so you're on of those. My brother was like you. Before he went back to hunting."

I'd ask where Dean's brother is now, but I don't really care. I try to be involved with hunters as little as possible, only interacting with them when they need medical attention. Needles ready, I return to Dean. "You want me to set you up with IV pain killers?"

"No time. I've got to leave here by sunrise."

I grab a bottle of Aspirin from the counter and offer it to him. He swallows two dry, then looks from the needle in my hand back to me. "How do you know about hunting?"

 _Damn,_ I think, _he won't let the questions go_. I have no idea why he's so curious about my life story. I try to answer as shortly as possible, telling the story to his lacerated chest instead of his face. "I come from a family of hunters, third generation. Parents and sister were killed by a demon when I was twelve. I ran as fast and far as I could in the other direction, and here I am. Now I suggest you shut up so I can focus on stitching your wounds."

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine."

I pretend not to hear him.

The wounds take longer than I expect to stitch, but Dean finally decides to leave my personal backstory alone as he grunts in pain and I sew his torn flesh. I don't speak the entire time, not even for the occasional "Sorry," or "You're doing great," or "I'm almost done," that I usually offer other patients. There's something about him that I've seen in hunters before, something that makes me want to distance myself from him as much as possible. Although I have answered his questions honestly, instead of giving the "None of your damn business," that most people get.

When I'm finished, I throw away the bloody gloves, don new ones, and clean the rest of the blood off of his chest as he watches. For some reason, it makes me uncomfortable and I blush a little. I then proceed to wrap gauze around his shoulder and chest. "The stitches will need to come out in a few weeks, but you can find a doctor to do that without too much question, wherever it is you are then." I pause. "You really shouldn't drive after such a traumatic injury," I say, thinking back to his mentioning that he plans to leave by sunrise.

He gives an amused sort of laugh as he puts his bloody shirt back on, followed by his coat. His left arm is moving stiffly, as expected. "I'll be fine."

"I had a feeling you'd say that." I discard the needles in a waste container and throw out my second pair of gloves. As he gets up, I say, "Here, I'll walk you out. I've got some cleaning up to do here now before I go home." 'Cleaning up' means not only cleaning the blood off of the station, but falsifying patient records for Dean to account for the used medical supplies.

"Sorry to keep you late. Got a girl who's missing you?" He smirks that damn snarky smirk of his.

"I'm gay," I reply curtly. Forever unamused. He's the flirty type, likes to rile people up, but I won't give in to it.

I walk with him to the front entrance of the practice, motion to the door. As he goes for it I reach into my pocket for my wallet, and pull out a business card. "Wait." He turns. "Here's my card. Call me if you ever need anything else."

He nods, smiles a little self-satisfied smile. "Will do, Dr. Sunshine."

"Jeremy's fine."

A pause. "Thanks for all your help, man, with no questions asked. I really appreciate it."

"No problem."

And then he's out the door and I hear the roar of an old car engine and see his taillights pulling out of the parking lot.


	2. Part 2

It's less than three weeks after I treated the hunter, Dean, when my cell phone rings on a Wednesday afternoon. It's an unfamiliar number, but I pick up anyway, knowing that my number has been shared by dozens of hunters. "Hello?" I shut my office door so that no one overhears.

"Jeremy?" It's an older man, and I don't recognize his voice. Not at first.

"Yes. Who's speaking?"

"Boy, it's been ten years since we last talked, but I thought you were a smart one."

"Bobby." I lean against my desk for support, somewhat shocked.

"That's right."

Bobby Singer and I have something of a history together. That was the reason I wasn't suspicious of Dean when he told me Bobby sent him. If that guy was allied with Bobby, he had to be trustworthy. By hunter standards, at least.

What I hadn't felt necessary to share with Dean was that when my parents and sister were killed by a demon, Bobby was the hunter that saved me from sharing their fate. He wasn't able to exorcise it, he told me later when I understood more, but he scared it out of the body it was possessing.

When I told Dean I ran as fast and far as I could in the other direction, it wasn't entirely true. I went into foster care, but Bobby kept an eye on me. He would pick me up sometimes and bring me back to his house, which was full of interesting books in ancient languages and other weird things. He told me so much about monsters and hunting that I hadn't learned from my hunter parents yet, only because I wouldn't stop asking. He taught me how to shoot a gun and how to put an angry spirit to rest and how to exorcise a demon. When I was fourteen, he let me go on my first hunt with him. A relatively routine poltergeist case, but it was as close as I'd gotten to anything like that since the night of my family's death. And I liked it.

Bobby mentored me for years, and hunting became my only outlet for my grief. I liked learning, sure, and I was a total science nerd, but that was more of a distraction than anything. I went through four foster homes and one group home before I turned eighteen and went off to college with the help of scholarships and financial aid.

I continued occasionally helping Bobby on hunts (and even doing a few on on my own) until my second year of college, when everything changed. I was nineteen, head over heels in love with a guy named Theo who was in my second-year anatomy class. Things were going good; we'd been dating for nearly six months, effectively evading the local homophobes' taunts.

That was until I had to stay after class one day and when I got back to my dorm, I found Theo dead on the floor, his head turned at the wrong angle, his neck broken. Bobby looked into the medical examiner's report for me, and as expected, things were a little strange.

I knew then that what happened to Theo was the same thing that happened to my parents and sister. I'd watched in horror as the demon, which I had barely understood at the time, flicked his hand, and my little sister's head snapped to the side. Some nights, I could still see the terrified look, frozen in her dead eyes, as she fell to the floor.

I felt sure it was that same demon that hurt Theo, and though every part of my being screamed for revenge, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to find it. If Bobby hadn't been able to find the demon in all of the years since I'd known him, how was I supposed to do it? I'd told Theo about hunting-a fact I always regretted, because maybe if I hadn't he wouldn't be dead-and he was always telling me that I needed to move on and keep going with my life, get my medical degree and do something that made me happy.

So that's what I did. Two weeks after Theo's death, I stopped answering Bobby's phone calls. Eventually, he gave up trying to call. I knew he would track me somehow, keep an eye on me, but I hadn't known for sure until Dean walked through the door of the practice that Bobby knew where I was these days.

There's a long, long silence on my end of the phone. I don't know what to say. I suddenly feel terrible; this man had helped me through the worst time in my life, and I just stopped talking to him one day. I can't maintain the cold I-don't-give-a-shit attitude that I give most hunters now. This is Bobby.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," I finally say. I'm tearing up, and embarrassed for doing it.

"I know, boy." A pause. "You had to get out of the life. I know."

"I still don't want anything to do with it. I'll help hunters get medical attention, but that's it."

A pause. He's thinking about something, but he doesn't want to tell me yet. "I heard you met Dean."

"Yeah. He came in here a few weeks ago with a nasty Hellhound scratch."

"He reminds me a lot of you, you know. Like a son to me." A pause, maybe a swallow. Bobby isn't the warm-and-fuzzy type, but I can tell that something about me is weighing on him. "I thought of introducing you to John Winchester's boys when you were younger, but you were on different paths. I knew you wouldn't stay a hunter forever."

Even though it's Bobby, or maybe especially because it's Bobby, this conversation is getting a little too personal for me. I don't do touchy-feely.

"Why'd you call, Bobby?"

A pause. Like he's not sure he wants to drop whatever bomb he has on me. "I found the demon that killed your family and Theo, Jeremy."

I swallow. I've been pacing around my small office, and now I pause to look out the window of my door. Business as usual, nobody paying attention to me. But I've got a patient scheduled for ten minutes from now.

It's hard for me to find words. "I can't go back to hunting, Bobby. Not even for this." But my voice wavers.

"You don't sound too sure about that." He sighs. "Listen, Jeremy, the last thing I wanna do is drag you out of a good, normal life and back into hunting, but I thought you should know. I'm gonna track down this son of a bitch, and Dean and his brother Sam are gonna help me. I can keep you in the loop if you want."

"I don't know, Bobby." I look at the clock, then down at my schedule. I'm going to need those ten minutes to get my head back in the right place. "I'm at work now. I'll call you back when I figure things out."

"Alright, boy. It was good to hear from you."

"You too, Bobby."

I hear a click on the other end of the phone as he hangs up.


	3. Part 3

For the rest of my shift, I can't stop thinking about what Bobby said on the phone. _I found the demon that killed your family and Theo._

I swore after Theo's death that I would never go back to hunting, because it only hurt the people I cared about. But this was different. This isn't hunting any old monster that any other hunter could take care of. This is the demon that killed everyone I ever cared about, except Bobby.

And who is there left to protect, anyway? No family. No boyfriend. I don't even really have close friends, just coworkers I occasionally go out for drinks with. Who would I be endangering by going back to hunting, just this once? Bobby can certainly take care of himself.

By the time I'm driving home from work, I'm sure that I'm going to help Bobby and the Winchesters hunt this thing down. I plan to take a few weeks, maybe longer, off of work to do it. I should be able to return when I'm done, if nothing goes horribly wrong.

Nevertheless, I spend half an hour pacing my small apartment before I call Bobby. The phone rings three times, and I don't return his "hello" before getting to the point. "I'm in. I'll leave tonight and meet you at your house as soon as possible. You still live at the salvage yard in Sioux Falls?"

"Yeah. But are you sure you want to do this? I don't wanna force you into nothin'. You can trust me and the Winchester boys here to take care of it."

"I'm sure."

"Alright then. See you soon."

The drive from my home in Silver Spring, Maryland, to Bobby's house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, is going to take about twenty hours, assuming a few stops for food and gas. I decide to cram in a few hours of sleep before I leave.

When I wake up, it's just past ten o'clock. I didn't sleep well. Bobby's call only brought back painful memories to mind, memories I had been trying so hard to get rid of.

I grab a large backpack and stuff in it a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a comb, along with a bundle of cash I'd kept in a safe-maybe it was the hunter in me, but I never fully trusted banks, and always withdraw most of my paycheck to make sure I have cash. I still mail in my bill payments for my car, rent, and cell phone.

Also out of the safe comes a large bag of hunting gear. I haven't touched it in quite a while, so when I do open it, I check that everything is still there, clean and load the guns, sharpen the knives, and wipe the dust off of my journal (which Bobby had insisted I start, as every good hunter has one).

After loading the two bags in the trunk, I stop nearby for gas and some snacks for the road. I set my GPS to give me directions to Sioux Falls, even though I could probably have figured it out on my own. And then I'm off.

It already feels like a long drive an hour in, alone with my thoughts and the radio. My car is a crappy old Honda Civic from the early 2000s, but it's done me good since I started college and even after I started making decent money I decided to keep it until it dies.

By the time I'm in Minnesota, I'm starting to feel tired, but it's nothing compared to when I used to pull double-shifts at the hospital during my residency. Bobby's house is only a couple hours away now.

I arrive in Sioux Falls just before six at night, having made pretty good time. Once I'm there, it's not hard to find my way to Bobby's house from memory-I frequented this area for almost six years while I was in foster care and Bobby would bring me to his house to learn about hunting.

When I pull up to his house, I see a car parked nearby that is definitely not from the salvage yard. I'm no car buff, but I can tell the beautiful black Chevy was probably made before I was born, kept in pristine condition.

I hardly get the chance to knock before the door opens. I haven't seen his face in years; he's older, grayer, a little rougher around the edges. But it's him. Bobby Singer.

"Come here, boy." He hugs me briefly but tightly, and I return it. Then he lets me go and steps back, taking a look at me. "Look at you. How old were you when I last saw you? Eighteen?"

"Around there, yeah."

He nods. "Well, come in."

He leads me into the living room which has changed surprisingly little, still stuffed with books and old furniture. In it, however, are Dean and another guy who I assume is the brother that Bobby mentioned.

"Hey, Doc." Dean nods at me, seeming happy to set a lore book aside. "Long time no see."

If I was the conversational type, I would ask how his shoulder's doing. But because I'm not and I know that it should be fine by now thanks to me, I don't.

Bobby introduces me to Dean's brother Sam, who is aggravatingly tall when he stands up to come shake my hand. "Bobby's been telling us a lot about you," he says, and I try not to feel frustrated that Bobby has probably spilled my life story to them. As I mentioned before, I'm not the touchy-feely type, and though I'd shared some of my story with Dean the night he came to the practice, I'd been vague. "I'm sorry about what happened to your family," he goes on. "We lost our mom to a demon when we were kids."

I nod, but that's not really what I'm here to talk about. "So what have you found out about this demon?" I ask, turning to Bobby.

"Well, for one thing," he says, "it's been watching you since you were born."


End file.
